Individual Pages!

Monday, March 31, 2014

march 31 2014


HAPPY NEW YEAR

Ginger knocked on the door. “Miss D? Can I come in? Miss D?” She waited a moment, then turned to leave. As her back turned, the door opened.

“Everything ok?” Dahlia had a flat head in one hand and a two fingers of Laphroiag in the other.

“Oh totally cool, Miss D. It’s the girls, they wanted you to watch the ball drop with them.” Ginger tucked her one long strand of hair behind her ear.

“They’re watching that shit?” Dahlia took a sip from her glass.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you had anything against it.” Ginger looked away from Dahlia.

“Shit. I. I don’t really, I just think it’s garbage. Famous people are garbage, at least that type of famous, anyway, what time is it?”
------------------


Shit happens. like writing.

CB

Saturday, March 29, 2014

March 29 2014


For once, she hadn’t been completely honest. She had for all intents lured the woman on her couch here with a lie. Although the woman she worked with was technically a friend, they had in fact had three conversations that contained subjects not pertaining to work, she knew she had over stepped her boundaries.

                “You don’t have to stick around. But you should.” She said. “You haven’t even read the pamphlets.”

                “You must have spent a lot of time on these.”

                “I care.”

                “I see.”

What time she had spent making the literature, printing it, folding it, handing it out, inviting the people around her was so unimportant to her and she wondered why it was that everyone else seemed so concerned about how long the process was when the actual outcome that she intended from it was far from beginning. She watched her friend gently turn the pages and unravel the pamphlets’ meaning in her head, while she nervously bit the same corner of her pinky nail. When she was finished, she turned it back over to the beginning and looked at it as a whole. She placed her hand on top of it like she was comforting the paper in its restlessness and spoke in a very smooth tone. 

                “Teresa, I didn’t know you felt this way. In fact, I’m sure none of us knew you felt this way.”

                “Us?”

                “All of us. You know, at the shelter.”

                Something about her friends tone was worrisome, was she sad? Was she concerned? Was she confused? People never seemed to be able to truly say what they mean, instead they liked to use inflection for subtext. It was a stupid copout. She took a moment to think about how most social interactions were in fact, a stupid copout.

                “I misunderstood our relationship.” Even though this was a grand statement, she didn’t move one bit.

                “Teresa, I…this is just very…radical. I mean, we help animals for a living, or at least try to and this is just a little antithetical to our beliefs.”

                “No it’s not. It’s completely in line with what our beliefs should be. But aren’t. Think about it. I’m right.”

                “Beliefs are sacred, T, I hold that very close to my heart, but this is less about beliefs and more about the deconstruction of a societal mainstay, of a societal need.”

                “Don’t call me T, it’s strange.” Three forgettable conversations and an awkward home visit were proof of that.

                “You’re right. Sorry. I’m gonna go. Your house is very lovely. I admire your D.I.Y. attitude towards everything. See you Thursday?”

                The question was stupid because seeing her Thursday was inevitable, that was the next day they both were scheduled to work.

                “Thursday.” The co-worker left with a smile and a delicate wave that involved only her fingers.

*************

I'm working hard on my piece I'm gonna self publish...a bit worried, a bit excited, mostly worried that I'm gonna fail.


Sigh

ClassyBiped

 

 

Thursday, March 27, 2014

Musings March 27 2014

My dreams have always been fodder for my writing for me. I think it's because my dreams have always been
visceral,
 epic,
cerebral,
 inventive,
dystopian,
magical,
terrifying,
arousing,
experimental,
experiential,
world building,
tactile,
metaphoric,
literal,
repetitive.


Last night, I had a dream wherein every person I came across at some point asked me:

"Are those you real eyebrows?"

Let the Pulitzer Prize writing begin.


-ClassyBiped

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

March 26 2014

Writing: Excerpt:

I've been looking a lot at form and I'm trying to find stylistic framing devices to move the story along in a more 'Flash Fiction' manner. One of the devices I have been playing with is lists. Here's the end of one I wrote today.


****


·         Don’t let them suck you in emotionally – You are good at this! You got this! Help comes with distance not involvement. (Intimacy is a whole different thing, don’t forget that.)

·         You are NOT at fault if they choose to die.

·         You are NOT at fault if they choose to die.

·         You are NOT at fault if they choose to die.

·         You are NOT at fault if they choose to die.

·         You are NOT at fault if they choose to die.

·         You are NOT at fault if they choose to die.

·         You are NOT at fault if they choose to die.

 
****

There's more, but you'll have to wait to find out.

-Classy Biped

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

March 25 2014

Each day for a week I have ridden over the same squirrel.  I imagine the squirrel running into the street, enjoying the day and feeling fine,  suddenly there's a quake of.earthly proportion and the rodent freezes. Eyes dilated,  the last thing it sees is the round rubber wheels poised to crush its tiny brain.

Monday, March 24, 2014

March 24 2014


Next door Natalie’s lips fell into a quivering frown. Hero’s ears popped erect. Jackie lifted her head from the sharp grass.

“That’s mean, Jillie. Don’t be so frickin mean.” Jackie and Hero got up and approached Natalie. “We’ll do the play with you. Hero’s a good actor. I seen it.” Jackie placed her hand in between Hero’s ears.

“You are NOT doing my play, Jackie. Especially not with a stupid broken dog like Hero.” Jillie kicked a clod of dirt at the dog. Natalie gasped. Hero barked. Jackie screamed the loudest scream she could muster.

“Take that back Jillie!”

“No.”

“Take that BACK!” Jackie beat her feet into the dry soil. Hero positioned himself in front of her, a canine shield.

“Fuck you. Fuck your dog.” The calm in Jillie’s voice made Jackie’s throat tighten.

“But. Jillie. It’s your dog too.”
 
*******
 
Everyone! I'm HAVING FUN!!!!
 
love,
CB

Sunday, March 23, 2014

March 23 2014

Writing: Still Working on My Story To Publish (Excerpt)



***

From the outside, Chelsea’s yellow craftsman was a lighthouse guiding ships to safety. Inside it was the shipwrecked boat that had been discovered after 30 years marinating in sea salt and coral. And Chelsea, the skeletal captain clinging to the helm, with hope that she could take a turn and right the ship out of its destruction.

----------------

Classy Biped over and out

Friday, March 21, 2014

March 21 2014

Writing Attempt: Editing a piece from last summer


 

Maple Street

Part 1

                The card stock of the flyer she gave him was thicker than he had expected, which in turn made him hold it with a particular reverence he had never even considered existed until this moment. He flipped it over in his hands to seem cordial, but didn’t want to read it. He reconciled that it was as good a time as any to try osmosis.

                “What do you think?”

                Her voice was much softer than he expected and made his skin bubble. A little fear. A little arousal. ”Nice paper.”

                ”I know. I care.”

                “I can tell.”

“You should read it and come.”

“Right.”

“It’s an important cause. People seem to forget that...” Her emphasis on the word ‘people’ had a strange and distant twitch coming out of her mouth. This drew his eyes to her lips and watched them move. There was no greater meaning to this except fascination. She was talking and making sounds and they were important sounds, unfamiliar and important sounds, unfamiliar and important yet distant—no, foreign—another language. Yes, that was it. “…Do you know what I mean?” She asked. He didn’t. But somehow he assumed questions were not allowed. Instead, he turned over the card in his hands three more times and studied the way it felt. Its composition was unsettling and it took him a moment to find any useful information. Then a set of numbers caught his eye. Finally some relevance.

“I have to work.”

“Then?”

“Yeah. And now, actually. That’s why I’m here, I’m working now.”

‘’What do you do?”

“Sell Alarm systems for Safe ‘n Secure. Like the one you have.”

“Me?”

“You have a sticker in your window.” He pointed to it. It was old and crackly from the sun.

“This was my grandma’s house. I’m still getting used to it.”

“My condolences.”

“It won’t be that difficult, I just gotta get more comfortable furniture. I think that’s the trick.” She scratched her forehead then wiped the small patch of skin above her mouth with the back of her hand. He traced these motions with the tip of his nose. Fascinating. Like her words, her presence was far away, on another plane just in front of her physical self.  “And get rid of all the fucking dust. Welp. Have a good day.”

“You as well.”

                She shut the door, he checked his watch and walked down her driveway. He noticed an oil stain, but no car. At the end of the drive, he turned and walked up to the next house. These are her neighbors, he thought. He rang the doorbell and a dog barked, then two, then three. He took a step back.  It was a very nice house.
***

I need to get writing more! I  have been everyday and yet I feel so behind.


ClassyBiped

Thursday, March 20, 2014

March 20 2014


 
Writing Attempt: excerpt from what I worked on for a few hours today.
 
***
 
Hero’s head rested on the small of Jackie’s back as she splayed out stomach pressed to the crabgrass in the side yard. Next door neighbor Natalie pushed the secret broken fence piece to the side and psssst psssst psssst until Jillie acknowledged her.

“What do you want?” The week previous, Ginger introduced Jillie to whittling and since then, Jillie took every opportunity she found to sit on the side yard stump – paring knife from the kitchen in hand – and carve the shit out of something. ANYTHING. As long as she had the knife, she had the creative power.    
***


Getting nervous about how quickly the deadline for my project @ IPRC is due. I hope I can get my shit together enough to finish & print.

Damn.

ClassyBiped

March 19 2014

It's the way of the way of the way of the way of the world. 

We're the way of the way of the way of our word.

They're the way of the way of the way of their will.

I'm the way of the way of the way of the way of my way.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

March 18 2014

Writing Attempt: Writing is Writing and OHMYGOD I'm Just Trying To Do It Right Now






We’re the ones that go out, fuck a bunch and fuck a bunch more, separate, date around, realize that our separation was stupid, decide it’s best to live together, then get married after a drunken brunch at city hall. I like that about us, even though that isn’t what has actually happened.

What happened was this: An amazing man fell in love with an absolute mess. Said man had no way of knowing. Said man was actually just a large boy. I was a tiny woman who had not learned how to say what I wanted for fear of judgment. Fear of judgment ended up corrupting the relationship said man hoped to have. Fear in general, clung to my chest and almost gave me a stroke before I was 25.

I had always wanted to be different. This was a ‘’goal’’ I had set for myself at an age that did not come with understanding past memorizing bible verses and singing in the school choir. So I tried and tried and tried to do things differently, which translated to a chubby teenage girl living and breathing just one step ahead of clichés that would be later represented by corporations like Hot Topic and Urban Outfitters.

If you can relate, you understand.
-------------------------


fuighscnekghighneighneoicguhelicmhoefajpx.plcf,pvsmkfgoer, RIGHT?

Classy Biped (the weird)

Monday, March 17, 2014

March 17 2014


Writing Attempt: A nice segue
 
We’re the ones that go out, fuck a bunch and fuck a bunch more, separate, date around, realize that our separation was stupid, decide it’s best to live together, then get married after a drunken brunch at city hall. I like that about us, even though that isn’t what has actually happened.
----------------
Just having some fun
 
Classy BIped

Saturday, March 15, 2014

March 15 2014




When her body hit the carpet, her razor blade shoulders clipped quickly across the looped fibers, shifting her weight in a way that checked her neck and popped off her head so it could roll and roll and roll under the bed.


------------


ClassyBiped

Friday, March 14, 2014

March 14 2014


“Years down the line, tonight will either make you laugh and reminisce or it will be the catalyst of a lifetime of hating and blaming your only sister. You decide.” She kissed each of their foreheads, “Choose wisely. It’s time for bed.”  
-Dahlia


--------
ClassyBiped
 

Thursday, March 13, 2014

March 13 2014

Writing Attempt: Character Description/Inner Life

Heinrick hated the sound of his cane against the sdewalk. Heinrick hated the sound of his cane against carpet. Heinrick hated the sound of his cane on the bathroom tile but most of all,  Heinrick hated the sound of his cane against his mother's crab grass outside her ramshackle of a home.

"Do you know?" Heinrick said as he tightened the knot. "Do you know what I've heard since I've had to use this rod of shame?"

"I understand that the struggles you're going through-" she cleared her throat,  "but you cannot, cannot blame me."

Heinrick found his fingers on his eyes and pushed his lids inward so not to weep.

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

March 12 2014

Writing Attempt: Dahlia's story (An excerpt of what I wrote today)

---


The adolescent screams made Dahlia’s head ache and feet twitch. Why tonight? Dahlia thought. Why the fucktonight?

The girls flanked Dahlia in her bed. On one side: Jackie, so hot her tears evaporated upon escape. On the other: Jillie presenting Architect Barbie with a licorice noose around its neck.

“Girls.” She said. “What in the fuck are you doing?”

“Making her pay!” Jillie snorted.

---

I know it's short. But finding the perfect story within a story is hard. I'm trying to let the daughters be their own entity as well as useful tools for the storytelling process. I'm getting there...

love
ClassyBipedontheMend

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

March 11 2014

Writing Attempt: description / show not tell

The skin on her knees stretched and stretched and stretched until they lost all form.

Now they hung with a drape like quality and rippled slightly while she would float in the water. This feeling disturbed her just as much as the sight. But the baths helped. She had spent almost three decades using her body to live off of and now it was fighting back.

In this particular evening soak, she her eyes focused on her breasts. They seemed to be pointing in a new, less buoyant direction.

"Guess I'm not calling you tits anymore." She splashed the tepid water and grabbed her glass off the chair propped next to the tub. It's contents, more tepid than the water, but at least still held some alcohol.

She gripped her toes around the drsin and opened it up, letting a rush of water out. With the free foot, she flipped on the hot tap. The rush of hot and cold made her whole body tingle.

"For all your fucking faults, body, you sure still know how to make me feel good."

She kept the flow of water going as she slipped slowly under the water and towards the spout.
-

RecoveringClassyBiped

March 10 2014

WritingwritingwritingwritingwritngOUCHcryingcryingcryingcryingSTOPachungachingachingachingDAMNITangryangryangryBREATHINGwalkingwalkingwalkingwalkingBARELYtypingtypingtypingNOTENOUGH.

WHAT'S WITH TODAY, TODAY?

-CLASSYBIPED

Sunday, March 9, 2014

March 8,9 2014

Writing Attempt: Editing and Continuing the Untitled Story.



So: I am posting a couple more teasers from what I've been working on. I want to share it all, but I also don't want to put it all on the internet because I hope to sell at least a few copies when I'm done!

I'm merging yesterday and today because last night, I stupidly got into a bike kerfuffle wherein I split a decent part of my chin skin open and didn't have the wherewithal to type what I had scribbled down during the day. Now that I'm less freaked out and shaking less, I am working on the continuation and edit of what I've been working on. I hope it continues to intrigue you!

----------------------

WORK

His fluidity of movement while on fire impressed Dahlia and reminded her of the first live performance she ever saw, a re-enactment of the crucifixion of Christ at Reap and Sow Church. The man who played Jesus, a.k.a. Jenni Gonzalez’ father, replaced the prop crown of thorns with a crown of barbed wire unbeknownst to anyone ‘backstage’ and almost bled to death in front of 267 God-fearing men, women and children on a Sunday afternoon. Dahlia liked that day. Dahlia liked his passion and sacrifice for the role. The man in front of her, Jacob, was giving the same dedication to the show and it made her wet with desire and shiver with fear.


----------------------

Ouch - NotSoClassyBiped

Friday, March 7, 2014

March 7 2014

Writing Attempt: The Tease


 

The pain was sudden and excruciating. Dahlia let herself fall against the concrete and slide down, down until her ass was planted and her legs bent and splayed. She growled and grabbed her chest – something was going on, but what, she did not know.




-----

Only giving you all a few sentences of what I've been working on today.

Classy Biped

March 6 2014

Writing Attempt: Revision



WORK

His hair was perfectly lit by the fire. Dahlia took her mug to her lips and gulped in the cold anise tea. Taking in the scene in front of her made her feel like a director. A stager of strange art. She silently laughed at that thought. The man screamed, absolutely in pain. Dahlia reminisced about the first ballet she ever saw, Romeo & Juliet, and let the remembered music flow over the twitchy movements of the lit man in front of her.

“Scream all you want. But you know the deal.” Dahlia took in another long sip and smiled. “You want to live or not?” The man raised his hands above his head and stopped his screaming. Dahlia flicked her Zippo and lit her cigarette. “How afraid are you?” She asked.

“I’m fearless.” He said.

Then keep going till you absolutely have to stop.”

“Ok.”
He walked towards her and leaned in, heat and all. Dahlia exhaled on his burning frame. He grabbed his eyes tightly and became hard. Dahlia leaned back in her chair at the sight.  She liked to watch.
 
------------------
 
Another sneak peek at what I'm working on for my self publication.
 
happy March 6th
 
Classy Biped
 
 

Monday, March 3, 2014

March 3 2014

Writing Attempt: Short Story Continuation


Upon emerging from the bathroom, Dahlia found Hector leaned against the range with a half used box of trash bags in hand. Her heart sank and swelled simultaneously. Asphyxiation was an easy act to stop but it was also usually an indication that the client wasn’t serious enough for her time and expected something more than she offered. Something useless.

“Sweet Caroline. I want to die.” Hector said.

“I know. But I want you to live.” Dahlia leaned onto the kitchen island with an outstretched hand.

“Prove it.” Said Hector.

“I can’t.” Said Dahlia.

“Then I’m beginning.” Hector pulled out the black plastic trash bag, dropping the container on the floor and placed it over his head.

“Go ahead.” Dahlia said softly. “But once you put that over your head, you won’t be able to see what it is I’m doing now.”

“And what is that?” Hector’s response moved the black trash bag in and out.

“I can’t say. I can only do.” Dahlia’s voice was just above a whisper.

“I want to see.”

“Then Take it off.”

“I can’t.”

“Then talk to me.” Dahlia spoke in the lowest register she could.

“I can’t.” Hector pulled the yellow ribbon ties tight around his neck.

“Then I’m leaving.” Dahlia took two loud steps back in her heels.

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll Talk.” Hector breathed in so deeply the bag adhered to the shape of his sad mouth.
--------------------------

This is an excerpt from the longer piece I'm writing tonight............I hope it intrigues enough.


classy bipeddddddddd

Sunday, March 2, 2014

March 2 2014

This is my post for tonight.  I just spent 2 hours outlining what I think may be one of the strongest contenders for my self published book.....we'll see....it's going to be a long night.

March 1 2014

Writing Attempt: Dahlia Story Continuation



His hair was perfectly lit by the fire. Dahlia took her mug to her lips and gulped in the cold anise tea and took in the scene. She remembered the first ballet she ever saw, Romeo & Juliet, and let the music flow over the slow, pained movements of the lit man in front of her. Dahlia took in another long sip and smiled. She liked to watch.

***

Hero’s tail had been amputated after he was hit by the Chevy Astro. Which was only hours before his name was changed from Bailey to Hero.  

The kids seemed to take to him more after the whole incident. Jillie was finally happy to seek his affection and Jackie took on the role of caretaker and friend. Dahlia watched the three of them from the car, Jackie throwing the ball for Hero and Jill tackling him as his jaws clamped around the fuzzy green sphere in triumph. It had been three years since Kyle had left and seeing the ease of play in the girls that afternoon made Dahlia finally feel like things were moving on.

***

The phone call came around 2am. Jillie, following a long temper tantrum had just fallen asleep, Jackie had conked out four hours before. Dahlia weighed her options. If she left now, she could be back home before the girls woke up, but since Jillie had devoured a Popsicle only 30 minutes before bed she worried that she would be beckoned much earlier than that.

After the third phone call, Dahlia realized there was no one coming to watch over the girls. Decision time. Dahlia mentally calculated the funds for the month. After rent, after groceries, after the car payment and less the child support…they were in the negative. The call came again. She hesitated to answer, but did.

“Sweet Caroline to your rescue.” She crooned.

“I’m starting in 15. Tell me you’re coming now.” The voice over the phone was intriguingly gruff. The dashboard of the car graced her mind and reminded her that it was almost at “E”.

Dahlia took in a deep breath.

“Postpone for 10 and I’ll leave in 5.”

“You’re toying with me.”

“I’m doing what you want. I’m giving you orders.” She could nearly hear the goose bumps she had given him. Dahlia rifled through her underwear drawer. “Defy me and the cost goes up.” She lit the blunt she was looking for.

“I’ll give you 5.” The voice had changed its tone.

“You’ll give me 10, and allow for 15.” Dahlia exhaled directly into the receiver. “Right?”

“See you then.” The voice hung up.

Dahlia took 3 minutes to check each room. 2 minutes to put on her Kevlar. 1 minute to get in and start the car and arrived exactly on time.

***

Dahlia parked the car across the street from the building and turned off her lights. She checked her mirror to verify the address.

“Fuck.” She said. “Fucking doorman? Are you kidding me? Fuck.” She dialed the contact number.

“Hello?” Said the voice.

“There’s a doorman. I don’t do doormen.”

“What?”

“Let me re-phrase that. I cannot allow doormen. I cannot enter a building wherin a doorman dwells. Make sense?” Dahlia grabbed the knob of the stick shift hard and rolled it in a circle.

“I’m starting.” The voice was definitive.

“What? No. Do not-I’m not going to be there to help-hello?” The voice was gone. “Oh no, no no you moron, I am not saving you like this.” Dahlia started the car and peeled out onto the road. “Fucking moron. He knew the rules. Why doesn’t anyone listen to the GODDAMN RULES.” She smashed her palm against the horn and blew through the red light.